When We Plant the Apple Tree
by tapioca two-step
Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story of growing up, even if you're already a god.
1. Seed

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks in italics._

* * *

I: Seed

She found him alone on the beach.

She had come to the farm as soon as Finn had told her the news, but the house had been dark and the animals had been asleep and the fields had been unwatered and empty. Even the orchard had been abandoned, and the trees, their dark leaves whispering against each other, cast long, flitting shadows over ground that had been untrodden for days. She wandered like a ghost around the property, a little orange fairy following dejectedly behind her. At last she had seen the harsh glow of light at the edge of the property, and she went softly down the hill to meet the lord of the harvest.

Physically, there was nothing different about him: his bare arms were folded across his chest, his silken robe contrasting beautifully with his olive skin and braided crimson hair. Divine flames stirred at his feet, giving off warm, golden light that was too bright for any human to bear looking at, and if she had been a human she would have been overwhelmed by his might and majesty. Even now, his aloof self-confidence, the obvious grandeur with which he carried himself, gave him the noble air of a statue in a cemetery, but there was something in the line of his shoulders and the way he seemed anchored to the earth that told her that he was struggling with something-a memory, a feeling-that he didn't quite understand. Her heart went out to him and she came up behind him and put a milk white hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot under her palm.

"Oh, Ignis," she said. Her voice was quieter than the foamy waves hissing up the beach.

The Harvest King's sharply angled eyebrows lowered even further over his narrowed eyes, but he made no reply. His scowl was enough to make water boil, but he was a part of her, after all, and she could feel his sorrow as plainly as if it had been her own.

Molly had been precious to her, too.

The shoulder under her hand stiffened, then relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was deep and low and steady, the same voice she had known all through the ages of their mastery over Castanet. "If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be alone at the moment."

"Ignis, I'm so sorry."

For the first time, the Harvest King tore his gaze from the horizon and fixed it on the figure beside him. She glowed in the moonlight like the inside of a seashell, her worried eyes the same seafoam color as her dress. Her wings were lined with starlight and her circlet glowed like a halo around her forehead. Sephia, the Harvest Goddess. The mother of this land, his sister, the other side of his coin, and the last person on Castanet he wanted to see.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about."

A faint line appeared between Sephia's eyebrows. "Please, do not shut me out. I want to mourn with you."

"Death is natural and necessary. She did not suffer and she did not linger. If you must mourn, take comfort in that."

"There is no comfort in thinking of the manner of her death. Ignis, what's gotten into you? You are speaking as if she was a sick cow."

"I should be asking the same of you, Sephia," he returned gravely. "Is there a difference? One death should hardly matter more than another; plant and animal and human lives are all equally brief in our eyes. Let the villagers perform the funeral rites and mourn as they see fit. I am confused as to why you're so desperate to join them. I will have no part in it."

Sephia's frown solidified into a scowl. "You're already a part of it, whether you like it or not. Castanet is ours-its triumphs, its failures, its births and deaths. Do not lie to me and tell me that you feel nothing when a life passes from yours, be it a flower's or a fish's or a person's." Her eyes misted over. "Especially her's."

"I am no liar," he said shortly. "I felt her death, as you did. I do not, however, see any point in dwelling on it. She is gone, like countless others before her, and countless others who have yet to follow her."

"There is nothing wrong with being sad."

"I did not say there was, but making a spectacle of it is pointless. You have spent too much of your time around humans—"

"And you have not spent enough of yours," Sephia said sharply. "You are the lord of this land, but it was she who rang the bells and revived Castanet, and not you. It was she who saved my life, and not you."

Ignis bristled. "The Goddess Tree bloomed again because _I _restored it, Sephia."

"Only because _she _called you to do so. Had she not, I would not be here, and Castanet would be dead. The moment I chose her to save me, she became stronger than me. The moment she called you, she became stronger than both of us. We had nothing to do with Castanet's restoration, Ignis. If Molly hadn't chosen to become the owner of this farm, we would have been lost."

"You presume much." The Harvest King's grim face was dark with unspent anger. "If not her, than someone else from the town would have taken on the task, surely."

The salt wind blew a few strands of Sephia's cerulean hair into her eyes. The expression on her face softened, and she smiled sadly up at him. "Even if you say you owe nothing to her, she walked up the mountain to see you every day. You can't possibly expect me to believe that you weren't her friend."

Ignis returned his gaze to the ocean, watching the moonlight ripple on the waves. This section of the beach was hers, too, although she had told him she was never much of a fisherman. Still, that never stopped her from wading into the water every morning and trying to catch salmon for the white-haired boy in town. From the King's Seat on Mount Garmon he had watched her, casting and reeling and casting again, turning red-faced with equal parts frustration and anger.

She got angry a lot. She also got sad and happy a lot. Usually all in the span of a few minutes. It fascinated him to watch her expressions change.

"_What do you mean, you don't like apples with green skin?"_

_Molly stood before his throne with an apple in her hand. The ribbon around the brim of her straw hat, he noticed, was pale yellow. He couldn't decide which he disliked more. _

"_Just what I mean. If you insist on gifting me with this patch-colored cultivar, I hope you've got a cocktail maker in that rucksack of yours, as that is the only way I'll consume it."_

_Her mouth, which had been gaping open, closed in a stubborn line. "If you insist on being picky," she mimicked, "I guess I'll have to bring one next time." She inspected the apple she had held out to him, then took a juicy bite. "It tastes _fine_," she complained around her mouthful. _

"_Red," he had told her, immovable as the mountain they stood on. "Grow a red apple for me, and I will eat it."_

A tiny, tremulous voice interrupted his memory.

"What's going to happen to the farm?"

The two deities turned their eyes to the voice's owner, the orange harvest sprite that had followed Sephia to the beach. Ignis recognized him as Finn, the sprite that had always accompanied Molly up the mountain on her daily visits, although he always cowered behind her shoulder, as was proper for a sprite to do before the Harvest King. Now, though, etiquette was the last thing on any of their minds. The pom-pom on Finn's triangular hat hung in front of his face, which was tear-streaked and pale, and he wiped tears from his eyes as he spoke.

"She planted crops. There are animals in the barn. What's going to happen to them?"

Sephia spoke as if she was calming a lost sheep. "What seeds did she sow?"

"Wheat," Finn sniffed. "And cocoa and lavender. Thirty squares each. And there are eggs incubating in the coop."

"It's the beginning of the season," Sephia murmured to Ignis. "I assumed the fields had only been ploughed. I did not think she had had time to plant already."

He had known. He had watched her, mere days before, scattering seeds on the dark earth she had turned over and over again with her hoe. She had brought the reek of fertilizer up to the King's Seat when she visited him that night, although she had soaked in the hot spring for nearly an hour to get clean. He had watched that, too.

"She'd be upset if her animals were left alone." Finn was persistent, pleading, looking from Sephia to Ignis with shining eyes. "I can't take care of them all by myself."

"Of course you can't," Sephia said gently. "You shall be helped, even if I have to take up a hoe and a scythe myself." She looked up at the Harvest King. "Ignis, we can't let Melody Farm go fallow. I couldn't live with myself if we undid all of her work."

"So, send the other sprites to seek out other farmers."

"Yes, but what's to be done in the meantime? Let the fields go unwatered, let the animals go unfed? This place is the heart of Castanet."

"_You _are the heart of Castanet," Ignis corrected irritably. "This farm is well tended, yes, and fruitful, but no more blessed than any other plot of land. If the townspeople realize that they need this place to survive, they will preserve it. If Melody Farm must go unworked for a while, so be it. Farming is a human endeavor, and a human endeavor it must remain. We bring the harvest. They sow the seeds."

"How could you?"

Finn's squeaky voice was harsh with betrayal. Forgetting his station, he buzzed right up to Ignis's face, his little wings flapping furiously.

"You're going to forget everything she did for you, just like that?" he demanded, his pom-pom shaking with every movement of his head. "You're going to let the farm die, just because you're too high and mighty to help? You call yourself the Harvest King?"

Ignis tightened his fists against his biceps. "Leave my sight, little firefly," he said dangerously, "and do not presume to speak to me in that manner again."

Finn's face was flushed with anger and tears. "I will," he bawled, his voice like the chirring of cricket's wings. "I'll take care of it just like Molly did, and I'll visit her grave every day and tell her that you hated her, and hated the farm, and hate Castanet!"

Like a tiny comet, the orange sprite streaked away in a shower of sparkles, disappearing over the sand dunes. Ignis unfolded his powerful arms, although Sephia noticed one of his hands was still clenched.

"You didn't have to be so harsh," she reprimanded gently. "He misses her so."

"He should not have gotten so attached to her, then. He has you to thank for that."

"Maybe so." Sephia's hands moved to his wrist. "What are you holding?"

Ignis looked down at her gentle fingers on his skin. He opened his hand for her, and there in his palm lay a tiny black seed.

Curious, Sephia leaned down to inspect it. "My, my. She certainly knew you very well," she said with a sly little smile. "Who exactly sows the seeds, again?"

"Yes, I know," he answered dryly. "She gave this to me."

"Ah. Did she ask you to plant it?"

It was so tiny in his hand, a little brown teardrop, smooth as glass. He was afraid he'd lose it.

_If I did, I could easily make another. _

_But it would not be the one that she had given to me. _

The thought instantly ashamed him.

The ocean reached up with a wave and swirled around Sephia's feet, making her ankle bracelets chime like bells. "You know," she said, almost absently, "they bear fruit in the summer."

She took a dainty step forwards so her gossamer dress floated on the black water and looked backwards at the Harvest God as he closed his hand on the seed once more, struggling to come to terms with the death of someone he didn't realize he loved.

* * *

_A/N: Part one of seven. _


	2. Ground

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're already a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

II: Ground

Molly was barely into her mid-twenties when she died, a victim of intensely hard work and her own treacherous genetics. Her death wasn't so much an accident as it was a surprise, not only to the villagers, but to herself. She died smiling.

For five long years she tilled the land and weeded the fields and husbanded her animals, turning Melody Farm into a triumph of production that had people from Forget-Me-Not Valley to Mineral Town praising her work.

She left behind three cows, a sheep, a horse, a flock of chickens, and an apple seed.

* * *

_Even before the Harvest Sprites' bells rang, he knew Castanet was in trouble. But, as the saying goes, heaven helps those who help themselves, and so he waited. He waited even as the river ran dry and the wind held its breath and the ground turned barren. He waited even as the Goddess Tree began to wilt._

_Just one person, he thought. Surely, one person will work out what needs to be done to breathe life back into this land._

_He was right, as usual. It was one person. Just one person. A farmer. A girl._

_"Save me."_

_The bells were finally ringing; a chorus of five tones tolling in harmony, singing out his name, calling him back. Fire, soil, wind, water and wishes: the desperation in their sweet song was not lost to his ears. For the first time in the long ages of his absence, his hands were needed to tend the land once more._

_"Save me."_

_He formed himself from fire, taking on its color, its heat, its burning brightness. With the song echoing like a symphony in the crystal cold air, he appeared on Mount Garmon's peak, his body draped with claret and ivory robes and his wrists and neck heavy with golden jewelry. He looked every bit the deity that the townspeople had depicted in stained glass in Celesta Church. Pennants of flame swirled stormily around him, frightening away the crowd of harvest sprites circled around his throne, ringing their bells. The song clattered to a stop, and suddenly the only sound on the mountaintop was the sigh of the wind._

_The sprites trembled in front of him, their faces pressed into the snowy ground. Drawing himself to his full, towering height, Ignis pressed his hand to his bare chest._

_"I have heard your call. What would you ask of me?" His deep tone made his fingertips buzz._

_"Oh," said an irreverent voice. It was husky and quiet and harsh all at once; he found it both intriguing and irritating. His ruby eyes sought its owner._

_He hadn't known a human would be here, too._

_She was standing in snow that nearly came up past her rubber boots, shivering because she was only wearing a skirt and a wool sweater. Her brown hair was a tousled mess around her face, and her earth-colored eyes regarded him with muted awe, as if she hadn't expected him to show up. Her hands, clad in white gardener's gloves, were pressed over her bony hips. She was tall, and gangly, and her wiry muscles moved like a foal's under her dirt-smeared, incredibly sunburned skin._

_Next to the human, her hands clasped in prayer, stood Sephia. The goddess's pearly luminescence had drained from her skin and hair, but her smile was the same as it had been all those years ago when they had last parted, and she looked not a day older. Ignis's intrigue vanished, replaced by amazement. She looked mortal. She looked weak._

_"Ignis," Sephia whispered. "The tree."_

_It had been harder to resurrect the Goddess Tree than he had been willing to admit. It was dry under his touch, dry and dying, and he poured his energy into it until it overflowed, until his power chased out every seed of weakness and sickness and death that lurked in the roots. He lit up the entire grove with his energy, and everything began to glow—even the farmer, who looked at herself in wonder as a glimmering outline appeared on her skin._

_Ignis only lifted his hands from the tree trunk when the first green buds timidly unfolded, like butterflies emerging from cocoons. A perfect imprint of his fingers remained on the bark._

_"You should have told her to hurry."_

_The three of them—two deities and one farmer—stood alone in front of the Goddess Tree, long after the townspeople had ceased their joyous celebration of its resurrection and gone home for the night. The tree shivered in the wind, drooping once again with silvery green leaves, its bark so deep brown it was almost red. The farmer had left them to their quiet conversation and was hovering awkwardly by the pond with Finn._

_Sephia's voice was soft and musical when she finally spoke. "I trusted her." She shone once more, perfectly healthy and perfectly beautiful._

_"Sephia, do you realize how close she was to being too late?"_

_Smiling, she did not answer._

"_M'name's Molly."_

_Ignis turned. The farmer was right behind him. He smelled her before he saw her: sweat and earth on her skin, freshly harvested onions on her gloves. She was standing so closely that the flames that surrounded him stirred her hair, too. Her head only came up to his shoulder, but there was a challenge in her eyes when he met her gaze. _

"_I heard you talking about me," she said in her sandpapery voice. "I want you to know I worked as fast as I could. I was doing my best the whole time."_

_Behind her, still by the pond, a mortified Finn hissed, "Molly, no! Remember what we talked about! Respect! Respect!"_

"_Finn, did you hear him talking? Like all I did was sit and scratch my butt all day!" The farmer—Molly—threw up her hands. "Was he around to do any of the hoeing? How about the harvesting? Or the fetching of vaguely specific items?" Taking his appalled silence for guilt, she sniffed disdainfully at him. "Thought so."_

_Beside him, Sephia put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "He has been away for a long, long time, Molly. He was just surprised that everything has changed. The Harvest Lord is indeed overjoyed that harmony has been restored to Castanet. We both thank you for what you've done, from the bottom of our hearts."_

_The ire on Molly's face faded into grudging acceptance, and she made a noncommittal noise. "I'm just happy you're feeling better, Harvest Goddess," she finally said. "If I can do anything else for you, at any time, please call me. I'll come." _

_The words were more sincere than a prayer, and Sephia reached out and grasped Molly's filthy hands, making Ignis flinch. Silent and shocked, he looked from one woman to the other, wondering just how his sweet Sephia could have made friends with such a brat. _

_And then, with inexcusable confidence, Molly leaned in and, thinking that Ignis couldn't hear, whispered in Sephia's ear, "His head is kind of big, isn't it?"_

_So went the first meeting between the bringer of the harvest and the sower of seeds. _

* * *

_Ignis had claimed the King's Seat long ago, back when the land and sea around the mountain were wild and free, inhabited by none but feral animals and unchecked forests that grew straight down to the rocky shoreline. After his Summoning, he chose to stay, and took his place on his solitary throne once more, preparing to join his counterpart in her task as Castanet's guardian. If Castanet's hero was someone who had, unwittingly, almost caused its destruction, he could not risk leaving again. _

_A wave of his hand had parted the clouds swirling below his vantage point, and he looked down at the world for the first time in ages to see just how much it had changed._

_The first thing he noticed was that her house was dilapidated. The barn and the coop were not. _

_The ploughed field directly in front of her house had been planted from end to end with five or six different kinds of crops, looking more like an overgrown jungle than anything. Her livestock—three cows, a sheep, a horse, and a flock of chickens—wandered in and out of this forest, knocking corncobs off their stalks, crushing onions and lilies underfoot. They were all preened and fat and content, soaking up the late afternoon sunshine._

_He had given a disdainful snort and turned his view to the western corner of her property.  
_

_That's when he noticed that she had an apple orchard._

* * *

He appeared on the slope of the hill like the breaking sunrise, and although dawn was some hours away, he cast light wherever he walked. He inspected the cocoa bean pods and lifted the pale purple lavender flowers and sank his fingers into the moist soil to examine how recently it had been watered. Knowing the animals would become fretful if he approached the barn, he instead moved across the bridge, as if in a dream, and walked up and down between the rows of apple trees. Their branches sprawled over his head in a canopy of leaves and pink, sweet smelling flowers. Winter had barely ended and already the trees were blooming, ready to bear fruit.

He found Finn in the last row, digging at an empty square of dirt with a tiny stick, an orange sapling beside him. If he noticed the Harvest King's presence, he did not immediately acknowledge it, and Ignis was content to watch him in silence, listening to the chirping crickets and feeling the grass tickle his ankles.

Finn set his stick aside and swiped at his dirty face with the back of his hand. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"That should be deep enough, shouldn't it, Harvest King?"

"It will do."

Finn nodded once, then grabbed the orange sapling by the root ball, which was wrapped in a small burlap bag. Ignis's fists tightened.

"Don't plant that one," he said. "I have something that is much more important."

Dumbfounded, Finn tilted his head. "But she wanted oranges—"

He wisely closed his mouth when Ignis held out one hand, palm up, to show him the little seed that lay cupped there.

"It needs to grow," Ignis said, very quietly.

Understanding was slow in coming, but finally the little harvest sprite dropped his head and shivered as tears streamed down his face again, and he made a weak gesture towards the freshly dug hole. Without fanfare, Ignis knelt on the ground and placed the seed into the hole and scooped loose soil over it.

It had been so, so long since he had helped create new life. He watched the pile of dirt intently, as if he was expecting the tree to burst from the ground like a geyser of leaves and bark and apples, freshly grown, red and glowing. He didn't even notice that his impeccable robes were becoming saturated with dew or that his braid was dragging in the dirt.

After a moment, Finn fidgeted. "It…it might need help."

Ignis shook his head. "I cannot do what you are asking. I cannot tamper nature's design."

"You don't have to tamper," Finn said quickly, "but you could help. We usually plant them out here when they're already seedlings, you know, when they've sprouted. I mean, I know you know what a seedling is. It's just that I don't want it to die because I can't take care of it very well. I mean, I won't not take care of it, but I've got so much to do around here, and I might forget, and just—"

Relenting, perhaps, because of the pitiful look on Finn's face, or because the heaviness in his chest was becoming painful, Ignis gently placed one hand over the little mound of dirt. "Just a little," he said, eyes flashing, summoning his immeasurable strength to do something as insignificant and pointless and heartbreaking as helping Molly's seed to grow.

"Not too much," Finn agreed, fluttering his wings and watching the light beneath Ignis's palm grow in intensity. "I don't think she'd like it if she knew you helped it too much."

Between his fingers, a tiny green sprout poked up from the soil, growing rapidly. When two perfect, teardrop shaped leaves sprouted on either side of the stem, Ignis lifted his hand.

_"You're going to love it," she had told him with a beaming smile. "Just do me one favor and take care of it for me."_

"I will come tomorrow," he said, in a strangely strangled voice, and disappeared in a flash of light.

* * *

_A.N. Two of seven. Somehow, my Molly became a pretty harsh person. Haha._

_I know Edge's bell is referred to as the "Heart" bell, but that made me think too much of Captain Planet, and I don't need to be giggling while writing an angst fic. Also, I love alliteration. :3 (Although, a story where Molly rings the five bells and summons Captain Planet instead of the Harvest King would make for an excellent crack fic.)_

_My writing tends to have tons of "ands" and commas. Commas and semicolons. It's a very clunky style, so please forgive it. :)_


	3. Sunlight

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

III: Sunlight

Some said that the Harvest King was born when a star fell from the heavens and landed on Mount Garmon. It burned there for days, and when the rain finally came and quenched the flames, there he stood, a pile of seeds in one hand and a mound of soil in the other. These he used to form Castanet, by throwing first the soil then the seeds over the side of the mountain. Other legends said that he had been a poor farmer on the verge of starvation who climbed Mount Garmon to beg assistance from the gods, and in doing so, became a god himself. They said that when he came back to his farm as a god and working the land, the sweat that dripped off of his skin sank into the earth and became seeds that grew into towering apple trees.

Other tales claimed he was a demon that had once been sealed in the mountain by the Harvest Goddess herself, and if farmers didn't pay sufficient tribute to him, he'd call down the sun from the sky and consume Castanet in fire. Some said the Harvest Goddess, the Mother of All Things, had given birth to him, and together they had planted every tree, bush, and blade of grass that was growing in the land.

Truthfully, Ignis did not remember how he came to be, although he was sure that, unlike Sephia, he hadn't always held sway over the harvest. If he had been something other than what he was—whether a demon, or a farmer, or a star—all stories were the same to him. He was what he was, even if he couldn't remember how he had transcended mortality.

Whatever the circumstances of his origin, though, the immortal Ignis was still acutely aware of two specifically mortal senses: the sweet taste of apples, and what it felt like to burn.

* * *

_He could feel Molly punishing the earth with her hoe._

_She was soaked with sweat, her hair swept back behind a red bandanna, her tank top clinging to her back muscles as she worked. She raised the hoe above her head and brought it slamming down again and again, pulverizing chunks of earth with each blow. She wasn't using gloves, and although her hands were tough with callouses, blisters were already forming where her fingers were digging into the handle._

_Earlier that morning, Molly had gone into town carrying a slice of pound cake on a plate. She had decorated the top with pieces of colored sugar arranged in the shape of a fish. She'd grinned at everyone she passed and asked how their days were going, yes, the farm was doing well, yes, this was a new dress, and yes, she had stayed up half the night making the cake, but she was happy with the way it had finally turned out._

_But then she had reached the Fishery, and had seen two people fishing at the very edge of the pier: a boy and a girl, sitting so closely together that their shoulders were touching. The girl wore a pink dress, not unlike Molly's, and the boy's snowy white hair was damp with seawater. His straw hat was perched on the girl's head. Molly's eyes flicked from the boy to the girl and back again._

_The girl turned her head and whispered something in the boy's ear. He chuckled and patted her affectionately on the knee._

_Molly had turned on her heel and walked straight back to her farm, and had been working outside in stony silence ever since._

_Suddenly her hands tightened on the handle and she struck the ground as hard as she could, spooking the chickens that were fluttering at her feet looking for worms. She had to yank three times on the handle to free the tip of the hoe again. For a few minutes afterwards she was calm, her movements strong and easy and measured. Then her face crumpled and she was back to swinging the hoe like an axe._

_She turned the field over and over until the black soil was as fine as sand, until there wasn't a square inch of dirt left for her to work, until the sky was purple with twilight and her animals were stamping impatiently because she hadn't opened the barn doors for them yet. The moon was sailing with the stars through a clear indigo sky when she finally secured the barn and the coop and walked stiffly over to the well, filthy and exhausted and heartbroken. Her bandanna served as a loofah as she scrubbed the filth and sweat from her skin with a bucket of icy water._

_When she caught the reflection of Mount Garmon's peak in the bucket, she turned her head over her shoulder and stared._

_She could see his glow. _

* * *

_Despite being properly dressed this time, the cold slapped her in the face when she finally emerged from the mine. Her breath came in white puffs as she climbed the arching stone bridge that spanned the foggy chasm between the mountain and the King's Seat. The stones were cracked and old and terrifyingly high up, but her focus was on keeping her balance and not dropping the plate of cake that she carried._

_He was facing east, his arms folded across his chest, and did not see her approach. She had to clear her throat several times to get him to notice her._

_"I have something for you," she said abruptly, trying not to flinch when he turned to face her. His light was harsh against her eyes and was as hot as a bonfire, and his intimidating height immediately made her feel inferior, which in turn made her angry with him._

_"I made this. I figured you might as well have it," she said gruffly, thrusting the plate at him. "Here."_

_He dropped his gaze to it, inspecting the fluffy frosting and the meticulous decorations with an impassive look._

_"What do you wish me to do with it?" he finally asked, his arms still folded._

_Molly's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you could try putting it in your mouth. That's what people usually do with food." She waved her foot at a few brown sparrows that had landed by her feet. "Go on, shoo."_

_Ignis watched the birds take flight. Annoyance drew a line between his eyebrows. "You are giving me a gift?"_

_"Well, I don't have anybody else to give it to," she said bitterly. He heard tears in her scratchy voice, but her eyes were dry. "Come on, eat it already. I don't have all night."_

_"No thank you."_

_Her eyes narrowed to brown slits. Fingers crushing the borders of the plate, she ground out, "What did you say?"_

_"I don't want it."_

_Her cheeks turned apple red. "Take it." When he didn't answer again, she stomped up the three steps of his stone dais and thrust the plate practically under his nose._

_"I did not come all this way to get rejected again," she choked._

_Rude. Rude and overbearing, with a personality that made the fire around him blaze even more intensely. She looked so small and mortal under the moon, no different in his eyes than the stones under her feet or the sparrows flitting around his throne, and yet she stood here, mouthing off to him like he was merely one of her neighbors, as if there wasn't anything peculiar about her appearing at his throne in the middle of the night. She exhausted his patience just by standing there._

_He decided to make the visit as quick and painless as possible and held his hand out for the plate. Immediately a sparrow landed in the crook of his elbow, cocking its head as Molly gave him her offering._

_"Hope you like it," she muttered into her shoulder. She turned on her heel to go, then seemed to remember something. She patted the pockets of her cargo pants and hissed, "Shoot, I forgot a fork."_

_Ignis shook his head. "I do not need one."_

_"But how are you…?"_

_"I am not incredibly fond of cake," he told her, as two more sparrows alit on his wrist and hopped onto the plate. Their feet made tiny tapping noises on the porcelain as they ate._

_Molly could only watch as the Harvest King allowed the birds to peck the cake apart, crumb by crumb. "Do you know how long it took to make that?" she blurted out. "Birds don't even like cake!"_

_He didn't answer her. He was watching the birds with half-lidded eyes. They didn't seem to be afraid of him, or his fire, or the way he seemed to be angry at everything around him. Defeated, Molly watched as her carefully constructed fish decoration was eaten, one sugary piece at a time. Finally she sighed. "All right, then, is there anything that you are incredibly fond of?"_

_"Peace."_

_She flushed in equal parts anger and embarrassment. "Didn't know it was such an inconvenience for you to be given a present," she spat. "Everyone else on Castanet seems to like them. Do you know how many gallons of tea I had to make during my first summer here?"_

_The birds scattered again as Ignis handed the empty plate back to her. "It is not necessary to bring gifts to me," he said curtly. "You will please me by continuing to protect Sephia. Grow your apples and attend to your animals. Do not waste my time by coming here again."_

_Molly tapped the plate against her thigh, considering him as he turned his back to her. Then, scowling, she crunched through the moonlit snow and disappeared into the mine._

_Ignis did not watch her leave._

* * *

The next day, a scorching sun rose in a cloudless sky. The unseasonable heat baked the grassy ground hard as bread loaves and, by noon, had wilted every green thing growing in Castanet. There wasn't even a breath of wind to blow away the blanket of stale, heavy air that lay over the earth. Those who didn't have crops and animals to take care of packed lunches and headed to the beach, although Jin and Irene remained posted at the clinic in case someone at Marimba Farm or Horn Ranch succumbed to heat exhaustion.

The excited squeals and intermittent laughter coming from the beach didn't quite reach Melody Farm, which was eerily silent and still. Usually, the farm in high spring was filled with movement and sound, bursting with life like a budding tree. Molly would be working outside no matter the temperature, the crops rustling against her legs as she patrolled through her fields. The house windows would be open so she could hear the weather report on the television, the windmill would be humming and creaking overhead in the breeze.

But Molly had been buried already, so she hadn't flung the windows open and hadn't picked up the watering can to rescue the parched crops. The livestock hadn't been let out of the barn, preferring its fan-cooled shade to the sweltering outdoors, and the chickens clucked within the coop, ignorant of everything except the fact that they had been fed.

But the fields were wet and dark although there had been no rain, and the gathering basket had been filled with apples and had been placed by the barn's shipping container. And although Finn had been sleeping under one of Molly's shirts all day, the cows had been milked and the eggs had been gathered and several comforting words had been said to Abriel, Molly's horse, who was fretful and stressed after not having been ridden for such an extended period of time.

In the large field, sans his golden jewelry and crimson ceremonial cloak, Ignis was punishing the earth with Molly's hoe. He had slipped his arms out of the sleeves of his white tunic and had tied the loose material around his narrow hips. If he was going to act like a common farmer, he might as well look like one. He was only mildly surprised when he started to sweat.

Molly had done this. She had worked and sweated and cried over this land, yanking fruitfulness out of the reluctant soil like she was pulling weeds. She fought and failed and planted and harvested until Castanet had finally begun to breathe again. All without his help-He who could make mountains or crush them, He who summoned the Harvest.

He who had done nothing to help her when she was dying.

In the orchard, the apple seedling basked in the sun, water still gleaming on its leaves.

* * *

_A.N. __My apologies for the delay. The good news is that I've got the next chapter done (which was more fun to write than this one), so I'll post that on Saturday. _


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